


Prelude

by Starlithorizon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Mild Angst, can earl harlan just get a happy ending please?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl Harlan, the unfortunate Scoutmaster, looks back on his life in the void, paying special attention to his childhood best friend. They could have had something, but perhaps it worked out for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> So I _kind_ of like writing unrequited love stories because I like to lament via characters, but some of them deserve to be more than just an angsty backstory ex-boyfriend. I might develop this idea a little further, this Earl Harlan who did get what he needed, but I dunno. I always feel a little iffy about writing this character.  
>  Anyway. Today's backstory day, I guess. Prepare for Josie's soon.

There was howling. For all the nothing surrounding him in this void, tiring and persistent and full of _so much nothing_ , there was a _lot_ of howling. It sounded neither like coyotes nor the wind, but sometimes it felt like a wicked combination of the two. The sound clawed along his skin, digging in sharply to the point where he could swear he was decorated with jagged scars and wounds, though he was unmarred. No, in this state of perpetual nothing, he was perfect.

He had no regret, truthfully enough. Perhaps he resented the occasional lack of courage, maybe he wished he could choose his own path, but he'd never look back with anything but fondness.

There, shrouded by years in the back of his head, smiled his family. His father with the eyes like pitch, his mother with a sparrow's singing voice, his little brother with the chances he was never meant to have. He dreamed up visits with them, and they were still relatively young, black hair only barely streaked with grey, his brother still at law school across the country.

He saw the troop he'd led before being stolen by the howling nothing. There were Franky and Barty, now never to be forgotten. There were Joel and Matthew, the twins who looked up to him like nothing else. There was Leroy, who would one day be Scoutmaster.

There were family members and friends he loved passing through memories like gauze curtains, filling his senses with Rina's orange blossom perfume, the cupcakes Will shared with him, Cecil's hand warm in his.

Cecil.

Cecil, whose voice was still a beacon in the darkness, even as it rang dully from his memories like a tarnished bell.

Cecil, whose smile had been so extraordinary and bright when they'd first kissed.

Cecil, who was so kind, and so dark, and so present.

Cecil.

* * *

They'd been childhood best friends. Isn't that how it always goes? They'd been best friends, and they'd been scouts together. Cecil ended up dropping it after about four years, when they were fourteen and frenetic, but he promised that it wouldn't change their friendship. He'd made that promise as they sat together at the White Sands Ice Cream Shop, two bowls of pistachio ice cream between them.

It had been true, too. Though Earl's life was working toward becoming Scoutmaster, Cecil divided his time between radio and being a pillar in Earl's life. They dated other people; there was nothing romantic about their relationship, at least not at first. They were best friends, through thick and thin, and then the mirror swallowed up something innately _Cecil_ and things were different, somehow.

It wasn't very obvious at first, since their friendship hadn't changed, but he had forgotten little things. Ms. Josie, who had taken him in after Mrs. Palmer left with Alan, told Cecil stories of the Yavapai, of the culture he'd forgotten. He and Earl had sat together on the floor as she perched on her sofa, weaving the myths and legends in Cecil's bones. They were sixteen when Cecil grabbed his hand the first time, a stuttering, truncated gasp tearing through his throat as she told stories of Cecil's childhood that Cecil would not remember in the morning. Nothing happened from then, they both saw it as Cecil seeking desperate comfort from a friend, and Earl freely giving that comfort.

They graduated at eighteen and took classes together at the local community college. Cecil was studying communication and broadcasting while Earl tried various classes for various degrees. He ended up leaving three years later with an associate's degree in psychology. During that time, it had happened.

 _It_ had been The Kiss. It was always capitalized in Earl's mind, since it sparked something like a wildfire in Earl's chest. To say that they were dating was too much. They were friends who kissed, friends who wanted, friends who could no longer bear that word draped around their shoulders. There was a different sort of love there; Earl could taste it on Cecil's lips. And before that love could be tipped from either mouth, Cecil recieved an unexpected chance to visit Europe, and he took it. They kissed in the airport like departing lovers, and no one thought anything of it. Perhaps they all had thought that Cecil and Earl were meant for that sort of thing.

Then Cecil had come back two years later, altered somehow. He didn't seem to remember Earl as more than a childhood best friend, someone from whom he drifted, the shore he had floated so far away from. He smiled at Earl like an old photo, and Earl's heart constricted.

It might have been love, what they'd had, but not anymore. Not after time and forgetting and faces like ash in Europe.

Years passed, and they passed by like near strangers. Earl found a home in a man named Ben, and Cecil fell in love instantly with a scientist. He felt the fire in his chest, and tasted the words he'd bitten back for so long, but he was happy. He was happy to see Cecil come alive with the mere existence of Carlos, who, Earl had to admit, _was_ pretty wonderful.

It had been impetuous and perhaps a little foolish to tell Cecil that they might have had something, especially when he _knew_ Cecil would quote it on the radio where Ben could hear, but he had to spit out the words. They weren't what had stuck in his throat for years, he'd given those to another and had them returned like gold coins, but these had been chalk for so long.

And now, here he was, in a howling void, remembering Cecil, but as a prelude. Only ever as a prelude to the life and love he had found and lost, always yearning to return to.

He held tightly to his hope, always. There was always a chance to return, he hoped, and when he did, _if_ he did, there would be a little house with a porch light playing host to moths and soup simmering on the stove.

There would be his home.

**Author's Note:**

> Remind me to write about Earl and Ben one of these days. I just want everyone to be happy!


End file.
